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No.  135. 

EVANGELISTIC  SERIES  I. 

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A DAY  WITH  MISS  MARY  IRVINE. 

By  Miss  Camille  L.  Clarke. 

WE  left  the  Bridgman  Memorial  Home,  Shanghai,  China,  in 
the  morning.  Miss  Irvine,  two  Chinese  Bible-women — in 
native  costume,  of  course— and  myself,  for  a day’s  itinerating 
in  the  country.  We  traveled  two  by  two,  in  wheelbarrows, 
and  I think  I have  rarely  made  one  of  a more  novel  and  inter- 
esting party. 

The  wheelbarrow  is  soon  a familiar  sight  in  a city  like 
Shanghai,  where  some  five  hundred  men  earn  their  livelihood 
by  it,  and  where  the  thought  is  constantly  suggested  by  their 
numbers  that  here  at  least  the  little  man  who  “was  forced  to 
bring  his  wife  home  in  a w'heelbarrow  ” would  not  have  lacked 
for  companions  in  his  dilemma.  But  though  I had  seen  many 
wheelbarrows,  this  was  my  first  ride  in  one,  and  I was  speedily 
convinced  that  to  do  so  with  grace  and  comfort  time  and  prac- 
tice would  be  required.  One  can  mount  the  vehicle  much  as 
one  would  a horse,  sitting  sidewise,  and  letting  one  foot  rest  in 
a kind  of  rope  stirrup,  which  serves  to  mitigate  the  constant 
jar  of  the  springless  seat. 


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Our  coolies  were  strong-looking  men  with  pig-tails  well 
tied  up  to  be  out  of  the  way.  A strap  passing  from  handle  to 
handle  of  the  barrow  served  them  as  a kind  of  yoke,  allowing 
the  shoulders  to  share  the  burden  with  the  arms.  Thus  they 
trundled  us  along  the  busy  city  thoroughfares  until  the  river 
was  reached,  where  from  among  the  numberless  clamoring 
boatmen  one  was  selected  who  forthwith  stowed  us,  wheel- 
barrow and  all,  on  board,  and  began  the  leisurely  process  of 
propelling  us  to  the  farther  shore.  There  was  ample  time  to 
see  the  great  Chinese  junks  moving  tslowly  through  the  muddy 
waters  of  this  outlet  of  the  Yang-tse;  to  watch  the  picturesque 
crews  at  work,  and  the  numberless  brightly  colored  small  craft, 
with  a huge  eye  painted  on  each  side  of  the  prow;  for,  as  the 
practical  Chinaman  says,  “ No  have  eye,  how  can  see  go  ?” 

Once  landed  and  a small  village  traversed,  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  open  country — and  such  a strange  country  as  it 
was!  As  far  as  eye  could  reach,  nothing  but  vegetable  patches, 
with  here  and  there  the  low,  tiled  roofs  of  farmhouses,  and  on 
all  sides  the  land  cut  up  and  intersected  by  zigzag  canals,  along 
which  meandered  the  narrow  rutty  track  where  no  vehicle  but 
the  unpretending  single-wheeled  barrow  could  ever  hope  to 
travel  in  safety.  As  it  was,  we  were  quite  willing  to  dismount 
at  the  rough  places;  a proceeding  calling  for  extreme  caution 
and  perfect  unity  of  action,  as  should  one  rider  do  so  without 
giving  due  warning,  the  other  might  be  subjected  to  a dipping 
in’the  black  waters  of  the  canal. 


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But  the  striking  feature  in  the  scene  before  us  was  the 
graves.  Graves  everywhere  and  anywhere  in  the  midst  of  the 
vegetable  patches,  or  in  the  farm  enclosure  itself;  just  wherever 
the  priest  or  geomancer  had  pointed  to  the  lucky  burial  spots, 
just  there  they  had  been  made — those  forlorn  graves  that  give 
to  every  Chinese  landscape  its  drearily  unique  aspect.  They 
rose  above  us  like  miniature  pyramids  roughly  thrown  up,  and 
covered  with  a coarse  grass,  where  cattle  graze  undisturbed. 

Still  more  dreary  and  gruesome  was  the  sight  of  coffins 
placed  here  and  there  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  quite  uncov- 
ered, apparently  uncared  for  and  neglected.  Yet  in  China  more 
money  is  spent  on  the  dead  than  upon  the  living,  we  were  told. 
Doubtless  many,  if  not  all  of  these  graves,  had  been  made  after 
long  months  of  patient  and  costly  waiting,  while  the  geoman- 
cers,  whose  services  are  dearly  bought,  by  charms  and  incanta- 
tions discovered  a spot  where  the  departed  could  rest  quietly, 
unmolested  by  the  spirits  of  the  winds  and  waters. 

Through  such  a country  we  passed,  from  farm  to  farm.  As 
soon  as  the  inhabitants  had  news  of  the  arrival  of  Miss  Irvine 
and  the  Bible-women,  the  courtyard  would  fill  as  if  by  magic 
with  an  eager  crowd,  made  up  mostly  of  women,  old  and  young, 
with  babies  in  their  arms  and  the  little  children  hanging  at  their 
skirts,  filled  with  a half -fearful  curiosity  to  see  the  “light- 
haired barbarians.” 

We  were  every’^where  received  with  courtesy  and  kindness. 
Usually  a rough  bench  would  be  forthcoming,  hurriedly  brushed 


4 


off  and  placed  for  us  against  some  friendly  wall,  for  at  Miss 
Irvine’s  clever  suggestion  we  always  sought  a wall  as  back- 
ground, thus  preventing  the  crowd  from  completely  surround- 
ing us. 

The  first  wave  of  curiosity  having  passed,  and  questions  as 
to  who  we  were,  where  from,  and  what  our  errand,  being 
answered,  all  were  ready  to  listen  to  the  Gospel  story.  Al- 
though Miss  Irvine’s  words  were  unintelligible  to  me,  I found 
it  deeply  interesting  to  watch  the  various  faces  and  varying  ex- 
pressions, and  to  follow  the  Bible -women,  each  absorbed  in 
the  group  about  her  or  talking  earnestly  to  one  inquirer  alone. 
It  was  touching  to  remember  that  these  Bible-women,  now  so 
eagerly  striving  to  lead  others  to  Christ,  had  themselves  been 
brought  from  darkest  heathenism  into  the  glorious  light  and 
liberty  of  Christianity,  and  so  could  speak  with  deepest  sym- 
pathy and  directly  to  the  hearts  of  these  their  sisters.  Assuredly 
there  was  no  lack  of  “open  doors”  that  day,  and  Miss  Irvine 
assured  me  it  is  so  everywhere,  even  in  the  remote  regions  where 
she  itinerates. 

We  found  all  willing  to  listen,  and  at  each  stopping-place 
some  little  incident  of  special  interest  occurred,  impressing  itself 
upon  the  memory.  For  example,  the  disappointed,  questioning 
look  of  one  who  came  too  late,  and  the  eagerness  of  a young 
woman  who  had  heard  all,  as  she  begged  Miss  Irvdne  to  repeat 
what  had  been  said,  to  the  late  comer.  At  another  time,  it  was 
in  the  house  of  a maker  of  paper  money — silvery  clusters  hang- 


5 


ing  all  about  us,  and  everywhere  the  signs  and  symbols  of  hea- 
thenism. I noticed,  pressing  close  about  us  among  the  older 
listeners,  some  bright  boys  who  were  attracted  by  the  books 
Miss  Irvine  had  to  sell.  On  being  told  the  price  of  the  coveted 
leaflets,  one  small  head  and  then  another  disappeared  from  the 
group,  returning  shortly  breathless  but  with  the  requisite  cash^ 
a coin  equal  to  a fractional  part  of  a cent,  held  tightly  in  his 
hand.  Then  such  pleasure  as  was  displayed  in  the  sense  of  full 
possession!  It  was  a surprise  to  find  that  many  of  these  boys 
knew  the  characters  well,  and  were  eager  to  read  and  to  learn. 

And  thus  we  followed  Miss  Irvine  all  day,  from  group  to 
group,  across  the  grave-covered  fields,  until  the  lengthening 
shadows  warned  us  that  it  was  time  to  turn  our  faces  riverward 
once  more.  It  was  a day  never  to  be  forgotten — a day  that 
brought  all  evangelistic  work,  and  especially  Miss  Irvine’s,  out 
of  the  haze  of  things  read  about,  into  the  clear  outline  of  actual 
experience. 

It  is  a most  beautiful  work  that  Miss  Irvine  is  doing,  and 
one  for  which  her  intense  zeal  and  devotion  especially  fit  her. 

It  is  in  the  hope  that  she  and  those  for  whom  she  labors 
may  be  kept  more  constantly  in  the  thoughts  and  prayers  of  all, 
that  this  imperfect  glimpse  of  a day  spent  with  her  has  been 
given. 


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The  Woman’s  Union  Missionary  Society,  under  whose 
auspices  this  evangelistic  work  is  conducted,  was  organized  in 
i860,  and  is  the  first  association  in  this  country  whereby  single 
women  labor  exclusively  for  heathen  women ; literally,  ivojnans 
mission  to  woman.  The  work  in  China  centres  around  the  Bridg- 
man Memorial  School  for  Girls,  and  the  Margaret  Williamson 
Hospital  for  Women  and  Children,  where  thousands  are  treated 
yearly.  Grateful  patients  whose  health  is  restored,  carry  to 
their  homes  a love  for  the  Great  Physician,  and  prepare  a ready 
reception  for  our  two  evangelists  and  native  Christian  Bible- 
women.  To  you  who  long  to  spread  the  love  of  Christ  in  the 
dark  places  of  the  East,  we  appeal  for  your  interest  and  prayers. 

Donations  may  be  sent  to  the 

Woman’s  Union  Missionary  Society, 

67  Bible  House,  New  York. 

“THE  MISSIONARY  LINK” 

IS  A MONTHLY  RECORD  OF  WORK  IN  THIS  SOCIETY. 

Price.,  Fifty  Cents  a Year. 


SEND  FOR  THE  LEAFLETS  OF  THE  SOCIETY. 


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in  2017  with  funding  from 
Columbia  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/daywithmissmaryiOOclar 


